


The Most Powerful Thing

by zylaa



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6175213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zylaa/pseuds/zylaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle sets out to see the world, plus some flashback to explain how Gold's actions in the finale of 5a were possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Powerful Thing

Belle spent her first night outside Storybrooke in Salem. Emma had mentioned the town to her, back when Belle had started asking about places to visit in a hypothetical future trip. When she heard about the town’s history, she was hooked immediately. Witch burnings in a world without magic? A town that turned a profit by selling stuff about witches to tourists who didn’t believe in magic? Belle had to see what that was like.

Even with her limited driving experience—she had a license, but she had to wonder about the validity of any license issued in Storybrooke—Belle was able to make it to Salem that evening. She had _not_ liked driving alone for hours, although focusing on the road had at least let her squash some of the inevitable worry associated with setting out into a world that didn’t believe in her.

Belle had read all of the fairy tales she could get her hands on, including her own. Surreal didn’t even begin to cover it.

As always, when she needed to relax, she found herself searching for a quiet place to read (this was also her response to happiness, sadness, boredom, and most other emotions). She found a small café that Emma had recommended, one with squishy chairs and late hours. And she knew she should be reading a travel guide, but she was _also_ midway through _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ for the first time ever. She settled down with a cup of tea and her book and let the words take her away.

When Henry called, she had just finished reading the second Triwizard task. She picked up the phone, planning to thank him for the recommendation. She hadn’t gotten to read many of the books of this world, as she’d spent the whole curse locked up, and repeatedly saving the town from evil and being pulled through realms didn’t leave much time for cozying up with a good book.

When she answered the phone, Henry started talking too fast to understand. Something about dark ones, and the underworld, and Mr. Gold…

“Slow down, Henry,” she said. “Start from the beginning. What happened?”

When Henry finished, she thanked him and said goodnight on autopilot, without hearing his response. She took a sip of her tea and noticed it had gone cold. She moved her hands as if to open _Harry Potter_ again, but stopped, sat back in the chair, and tipped her head back, staring up at the ceiling.

 

Love is the most powerful thing in all the realms. This is one of those unshakeable facts about reality and magic.

The Charmings’ problem—well, their biggest problem—is that they forget to take this fact to its logical conclusions. Love is by far, without question, the most dangerous thing in all the realms.

They really should know that, by this point, Rumplestiltskin thinks. He’s almost disappointed in them. Even Regina is off her guard, and she knows better than anyone (besides him) how far a person will stretch to fill a space in a heart that remembers what it is to be whole.

To be fair, young Miss Swan did create quite an excellent distraction, going dark.

When she took all of the darkness upon herself, she left Rumplestiltskin with a pure and clean heart, a heart full of goodness.

Love is goodness, goodness is love—another one of those unshakeable facts.

Every action Rumplestiltskin has ever taken has been for one of two reasons. The first, cowardice. The second, love of his son.

When he wakes up from a coma, his heart full of goodness and his body empty of power, the loss of his son stabs him like a sword. When he had power, even though the loss always made itself at home in his head, he was never helpless. He planned, schemed, smiled, told strategic truths and untruths, worked magic and let magic be worked on him, all because he saw snatches of a future where he could finally, someday, see his son’s face again. When he had power, it didn’t matter how impossible the task seemed. He knew he could find a way.

Rumplestiltskin wakes up with a heart full of goodness and a body empty of power, and he already knows what he has to do.

Saving a son from death is, again, an unquestionably good thing. Rumplestiltskin has spent centuries studying how people with the best of intentions can be made to tear down castles and raze villages with the right incentives. He knows that a newly pure heart, glowing with love, is a weapon more destructive than any curse.

When he enchants the sword, his only regret is for Belle. Belle, who has always believed in him, far more than he has ever believed in himself.

He knows that he has to get her away from the town, and he’s still, for a brief moment, good. He gives her some money, the car keys, things he doesn’t need. He doesn’t know if he wants her to drive away and never look back or if he wants her to return and understand why he’s done all this. After he has Baelfire back, of course. She shouldn’t come back before then.

After Hook’s death, when all the darkness has rushed back into him, like a dog running home to its master, he gets a phone call.

 

Belle had sat staring at the ceiling so long that the barista came over.

“You okay?” said the barista, a dark-haired girl with three piercings on each ear.

“Yes, sorry, I’m fine,” Belle said automatically. “Just…” she thinks about what on earth she could say that would make sense. “Relationship troubles,” she finishes. This seems to work.

“Bummer,” said the barista. “Do you…uh, do you need to talk about it?”

Belle intended to say no, so she was surprised to hear her mouth say, “Yes.” From the barista’s face, it looked like she was a bit surprised as well. Belle rushed for an explanation. “I mean, if you don’t mind. My friends are all…” she searched for an explanation that would be normal. “There was a death in the family. I don’t want to bother them.” She hoped the barista would not ask why all of her friends were related. The barista did not.

 “Yeah, yeah, of course,” the barista said, nodding sympathetically. The barista leaned onto the back of the armchair across from Belle, crossing her arms. “Tell me about it.”

Belle bit her lip, her mind racing. She plucked the facts of her situation out of the magical context as best she could.

“My ex has done a lot of terrible things,” she said. Once, she would have said, “has made a lot of mistakes,” or something else in the passive voice. She went on, “I ended things with him because of it. He’d promised to change, and he’d always, _always_ broken his promises. Right now, though, it looks like he’s really, finally done it.” Belle’s hands were shaking. She gripped the disposable paper cup tighter, and it started crumpling; she hastily set it back down on the table and tried gripping her knees instead. “We’re getting along, now. I’ve left town to see the world—I’ve always wanted to do that—and he helped me out with that. Loaned me a car.” At that, the barista’s eyes widened.

“Rich guy?”

“Er. Yes,” Belle said.

“Nice,” said the barista. “Anyway.”

“Anyway, right, I just got a call from a mutual friend. It sounds like he’s done something truly selfless, for once. And that makes me think…well, people _can_ change. I’ve seen it. And I miss him already.” She pauses. “But at the same time, he did tell me I should see the world. I’ve always wanted to.”

“Yeah, you should go,” said the barista, though Belle’s mouth was open to continue laying out the fragmented backstory. Belle paused for a moment.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. Look, you say you think this guy’s really changed, right?” Belle nodded, deliberately ignoring the barista’s skepticism. “If he’s a good guy, he’ll want you to follow your dreams and all that. If he’s a good guy, he’ll be waiting whenever you get back. And if he’s not a good guy, just keep traveling. You’ll be able to tell soon enough.”

Belle smiled. “You make it sound easy.”

“I’ve put up with a lot of crap from exes. I’ve learned a couple things.” The barista nodded at Belle’s half-crumpled cup. “Need anything else tonight?”

 

Belle called Rumplestiltskin once she’d left the coffee shop and was back in her hotel room, which boasted a rattling heater and a painting of washed-out, gloomy-looking flowers. She told him, “Thank you. I’m proud of you.” He said, “I’m just glad you’re safe. How’s seeing the world?”

They talked for almost an hour. A lot had happened in the day. Rumplestiltskin did not ask her to come back; she did not ask if she should come back. They studiously avoided saying anything resembling “I love you,” but they both heard the hole in the conversation.

“I should get some sleep,” Belle said. “Lots of things to do tomorrow.”

“Of course. Sleep well, Belle.”

“You too, Rumple.” Another loud silence in the conversation where something else used to go. “Goodnight.”

Belle falls asleep, rattling heater notwithstanding, and dreams of the world ahead of her. Alone in his bedroom in Storybrooke, Rumplestiltskin buries his head in his hands. He sits like that until Emma’s text arrives, as he knew it would, and it’s time for him to act as the Dark One once more.


End file.
